Never Cry Witch
by Spankky
Summary: Reverend Hale is called to Salem to investigate the town of witchery. After having a tense encounter with a carpenter's daughter by the name of Constanze Brunswick, Hale soon learns that the town's talk of witchcraft is far from what it seems. Will his change of heart drive him down a path of sin? Or has his faith changed all together? Rated M for later chapters.
1. The Devil's Reign

_So let's get this cleared out of the air before any comments are made. First of all, I do not own "The Crucible" or any characters involved. All rights are reserved to Arthur Miller. I do, however, own Constanze (pronounced con-STAHN-zah) Brunswick, Sybil Brunswick, Hershel Brunswick, and Gretel Gallows. Secondly, some parts of my story may or may not fit in with scenes from the movie or acts from the book. The movie was already historically incorrect by implying that Reverend Hale was a strapping young minister during the Salem Witch Trials when in reality, he was very much older at that time. But did that stop it from being a fantastic film? No, of course not! With that being said, I will be changing some instances (nothing major) to fit my story. It is a fanFICTION after all. Thirdly, I do not intend to tamper with what ACTUALLY happened in the Salem Witch Trials. This is merely a completely fan-based fiction story based off the play/movie. _

_Anyway, this is an OC fic, and I do hope you enjoy it! Thanks for choosing my story!_

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Chapter 1

Salem seemed as though of a grayscale painting, cold and dreary; for the devil had bid his pernicious work on the little town that day. The bitter wind of the early winter swept across the village, drawing nearer the grey clouds that hung low in the lifeless sky, promising the dreaded snowfall of a long winter ahead. Small spats of snowflakes flurried through the tall dead grass of the prairie fields where the cattle and horses lay. Foggily visible in the distance was that of the Salem court, basking its proud shadow against the small hand-built homes of the working man.

The crisp cold air chilled the very bones of Judge Thomas Danforth, governor of Massachusetts and magistrate of the Salem court who had arrived earlier that day in correspondence to a letter from Thomas Putnam and Reverend Samuel Parris to condemn the accused if they do not confess. His eyes scanned the courtroom. He had seen this room many of times, both from the seats of the audience and at the podium. It wasn't only the freezing wind that shuttered his spine; it was something much larger. Something… diabolical.

He too had heard the rumors from the gossiping townsfolk even in his home city of Boston, talking of witches and voodoo curses, and how the devil had come to make his mark on Salem. Ruth Putnam cannot wake. Betty Parris cannot wake. Betty Parris flew over a barn in search of her dead mother. The Devil has come forth to Salem to claim the lives of the innocent. That is, if Reverend John Hale, whom Parris pleadingly invited to rid the town of witchcraft, cannot break free the cursed victims from the Devil's foul grip.

There was no doubt on the contrary that there would be no confliction in the town council as soon as the clickity-clack of Reverend Hale's horse and carriage rolled slowly, but nobly into Salem. So young this minister was, barely matured or cultivated into his practice. The blind, the broken, and the wretched clinging to him like loose threads, hanging and dangling on to every word edifying the forbidden practice.

Danforth stood from afar in the sanctuary of the courthouse that day, while citizens of this broken town flocked to the outlander like gawking goslings to mother goose. The bustling, muttering townsfolk scurried all perimeters of the moving black buggy, trying to grab a glimpse at this almighty minister that had come to save their town from eternal hellfire. The little man leapt down from his carriage, disappearing into the smothering swarm of people. Danforth slowly made his way back through the narrow row of pews to the foot of the altar, where he sat. He made eye contact with Judge John Hawthorne, who was pondering the ruckus outside as well.

"I am assuming Mister Hale has just arrived," insinuated Hawthorne.

"Indeed," replied Danforth, little enthusiasm breaking from his worn, weathered face.

* * *

Darkness came quickly the following night, for the shifting of the earth was beginning to venture further away from the sun this time of year, calling for shorter days and longer, colder nights. Almost all the log homes in the hamlet snug in between the soft hills that roll through the pastures had their fireplaces ablaze. The warm, welcoming scent of burning hickory wood filled the air all around the village. The rich smell was appealing to the nose of Constanze Brunswick, who found herself standing in the midst of her path from her room upstairs to the kitchen just to savor the sweet aroma and absorb the heat radiating from the fire. She closed her eyes as she wrapped herself in a warm embrace and inhaled deeply. A small grin cracked on her lips. There was nothing she loved more than the comforting scent and warmth from a home fireplace.

"Constanze dear, are you ready to eat?" she heard her mother ask from in the kitchen, grinning at her soulful reaction to the fire. Her lips curled, showing her white teeth,

She chuckled. "Yes." Constanze was a pretty girl, though she showed no sign of growth since her twelfth year. She was also very pale complected, giving people the impression that she never left the house. This didn't really bother her. She knew deep down that she was fairly attractive, even though little to no men had ever looked at her in such a way.

Hershel stepped up in the open doorway. He smelled of smoke and long exposure to the outdoors, just as a hard working carpenter should after splitting wood all evening. He wiped the sweat from his brow as he removed his hat, exposing his shoulder-length black hair.

The tall, fair woman set plates on the long oak formal dining table, embellished with the finest cloths that her mother had made for her as a wedding gift, some twenty years ago. She looked up from her old apron that she had just wiped her hands on and sighed. "How goes the cutting?" she asked, noticing her house was a little cooler than usual due to the lack of firewood. She pulled her sandy blonde hair that reached all the way down to the small of her back out of her face.

"It goes," he replied, making his way to the table, "but slowly." He pulled out his chair and sat down. "Putnam's wiped almost all the timber from our acres."

Sybil sighed accordingly, though usually soft spoken. "Greedy, that man is. I swear, what I wouldn't do for an honest neighbor around here."

Constanze heard shuffling footsteps from afar in the living area. She turned to see her grandmother Gretel, a gnarl of an old woman, stammering into the kitchen with her walking sticks, and some strange leather pouch. The effects of living nearly ninety years had finally begun to take a toll on her. Her back was hunched, her bones were brittle, and her hair was as white as fleece. Though a fragile old thing, Gretel was about as strong as a work mule. And as stubborn as one too, Constanze thought. Gretel grinned, bearing the only three teeth she had left.

"Ah, Constanze!" her shrill voice caught the attention of everyone in the room. "Just the precious darling I was looking for!" Gretel shifted her way to the table and took a seat next to her grand daughter. "My, my, have you grown into such a beautiful young woman." She laughed. If there was one thing Gretel Gallows was famous for, it was her laugh… and her smile.

Constanze grinned, pulling her long black hair behind her ear. "You say that every day, Granny."

"Ay, but it be true! I tell you child, you may just be the prettiest girl in Salem. I often wonder why no man has proposed matrimony, you being seventeen year and _still_ single-"

Sybil gasped. "Mother!"

"What?! It's true! Why I tell you, I was married to John - or was it Isaac – and pregnant when I was but fourteen year. It's time the girl get a husband."

Constanze giggled. Oh, Granny Gallows: married six times to six different men, having but one surviving child out of seven; it was no wonder she had gone mad.

Sybil set what appeared to be roast on the table over a bed of cloth. "Ay mother, though it seemed as if the odds of finding and keeping a husband were not in your favor." She giggled under her breath, looking over at her.

"Ay, outlived all of them, too." She winked as though she were proud. She laughed, but her expression suddenly shattered when she glared over at Hershel, who was quietly helping himself to the night's feast. "It runs in the family: no Gallows woman has ever had a lasting marriage. Be warned, good man!"

Perhaps Granny was right. Though she laughed about it superficially, she'd often wondered if the dreaded Gallows trait had come to conquer her love life. Romance was something Constanze didn't beckon with, and the feeling of love was all unfamiliar territory. Honestly, she had no interest in men whatsoever; not the men she had become known to around here. Though she bared her father's name of Brunswick, she knew deep down that she was indeed her mother's daughter, who just so happened to come from an infamous line of widows.

Gretel reached into her brown leather satchel, rummaging around a clutter of God only knows what. Finally, she pulled out of it a single leaf; it appeared to be a bay leaf.

"Here you go, dear," the old woman said to Constanze. She handed the leaf to her.

Constanze accepted the leaf. She didn't understand, and her facial expression implied so as she studied the thing. Gretel was such a complex woman. Her whole family was complex. There was absolutely nothing normal about her mother's side, she thought. She gave her a puzzled look. "What is it?"

"A bay leaf. Carry this with you wherever you may go, and true love in your path will come to follow," Gretel said in almost a chant.

Constanze observed the odd gift. "Thanks, Granny… but if I am only destined to be widowed, why should I seek love to begin with?"

"Ah, child," the woman set her boney hand upon the girl's shoulder, "destiny is but a fallen leaf in a winding river; it will never stay put in one place, and will always ride new currents to vaster seas."

Constanze studied the leaf again, then back up to Gretel. There was something about that old woman's wicked smile that gave her the comfort of knowing everything would turn out in the end. But there was something else about that devilish smile that presumed trouble. She paid it no mind. Though the craziest old bat in all of Salem, the woman sure had a way with words.

But little did she know a male-deprived lifetime would be the least of her worries.

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_So, there was the first chapter. I'm sorry it seems a little rushed, but I promise the next one will be more relevant to the story and you'll get to know the characters a little bit better!_


	2. The Stone Man

_Okay. So I'm going to try to keep up with this story the best that I can. I know I've never posted a complete story. I'm sorry; it's a weakness of mine. I get so drawn into it, then something comes up, or I simply lose interest. Fear not, I have high hopes for this story, and I think you guys will be thoroughly pleased with it. This chapter pretty much focuses on the hidden tension and rivalry of Danforth and Hale. Again, it's not going to fit in with the scenes and acts from the play/movie. This is pretty much my version of behind the scenes. So, I'll stop blabbing, and I'll let you continue reading. Enjoy!_

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Chapter 2

The sun was fighting the clouds that day, as it had seemed to have been doing for the past couple of weeks now. The grass was now brittle and brown, and the trees showed no sign of life. The mornings were dark and dormant now that all of the birds had flown south for the winter. It was a depressing time of year; even more so now that the unfortunate events were occurring here, thought Hale.

The dead leaves crunched on the ground as he walked solely to the meeting hall from his carriage, in response to a request from Reverend Parris to meet face to face with the supreme officials of the court before the suspects were tried. His brown hair blew in every which direction. He folded his lips inward and hunkered down into his shoulders to avoid getting chapped from the wind. He gripped his bible tightly and held it against him as it if were a living, breathing entity. In a way, to him, it was.

He recollected on the families he visited yesterday, analyzing each of their situations. Why here, in Salem? Why all of these children? The devil had his particularly queer ways of afflicting innocents, and choosing his hosts. A smirk crept onto his face; simply the sheer fact that the town needed him sent a jolt of satisfactory up his spine. His importance was lavished here; this town relied on him and his scholarship. No matter. He was going to get to the bottom of this, if it was the last thing he'd ever do. No man of God would ever let His children suffer.

His mood of feeling utterly significant and powerful quickly wavered as he came to the entrance of the town meeting hall, where he would finally meet face to face with the almighty Thomas Danforth, thought to be the most logical man in all of Massachusetts. And most powerful, too. His heart pulsated in his ears as he nervously opened the heavy door to the conference center. There he came to see Reverend Parris, along with a few other officials of the court whose faces he did not recognize; and none other than Deputy Judge Danforth himself.

"Ah, Mister Hale!" Parris ushered eagerly over to the grinning man, greeting him with a firm handshake. "Good to see you, man."

Hale nodded, "Mister Parris." He nervously crossed his hands in front of him.

"Come; allow me to introduce you to our finest officials. This here is Judge Hawthorne, and Judge Sewer. Over here we have Mister Herrick, our court marshal. And this is Ezekiel Cheever, our court clerk."

"Pleased to meet you, gentlemen," replied Hale, shaking each of the men's hands accordingly. The men nodded.

"And this is Judge Danforth, our very own governor."

"It's an honor, Mister Hale," Danforth nodded, greeting the minister with a handshake. His face was that of stone, showing no sign of emotion. As well as the Reverend could read a person, he could tell this one was going to be a touch nut to crack. A glimpse of what Hale believed to be a smile grew on the Judge's face.

Hale grinned, his nervousness choking up in his throat. He felt intimidated rather than of equal status to this man. He could almost feel the authority lustering from this stone man. The very room he stood in felt as if it were a holy relic. The aura radiating from him was something so supreme; something so… powerful. "No, Mister Danforth, the honor is truly mine."

Danforth poured himself a glass of ale. A moment of silence filled the room, waiting for him to start a discussion on the town's crisis. He sipped the beverage before breaking the silence. "Mister Hale; what is a man like yourself doing so far away from home, all the way out here in Salem from Beverly?" he asked, appearing to attempt to make friendly conversation. The gentlemen looked over at him.

Hale glanced at Parris, who nodded at him to continue. "Why, the same reason you're here from far as well, sir; to bring justice to the wrong-doers, and save the afflicted children. Mister Parris sent for me to examine the town of witchery."

"Mmm-hmm." Danforth walked towards the fireplace and took a seat, studying the burning embers in the hickory wood. He watched as the ones that were the brightest and hottest eventually crumble and fall into the ash. "And what makes you think you can free these children?" he asked, not disturbing his fix on the fire.

Hale grinned, the extent of his knowledge flooding his entire body all the way up to his nervous red cheeks. "This whole region can be freed, sir. By the dispensation of the almighty Father and His mercenaries who lavish and teach of His great power and grace all across His green earth, every wretch and every sinner can overcome the infernal grasp of the Devil himself," he said in account to the Puritan belief that was thickly spread over the town of Salem, "whether they be bewitched or not." He gripped his bible tightly, anxiously running his fingers over the rivets in the spine.

Danforth took a moment for the little man's words to register into coherency. He set his goblet of ale on the table as he rose, looking far off in the bleak sky through the window. He put both hands behind his back. Silence filled the room. After a moment, Danforth spoke. "I bid you do right, Mister Hale."

Hale nodded. "Ay, sir." He quickly put on his hat and turned to the door before he heard his name once more, and was halted in mid-step by Danforth. He peered over his shoulder.

Danforth turned his head slowly away from the window to face him. "We look for no saint to save this town." His eyes hardened. Hale said nothing. "Only God."

A bit stunned and not sure whether to take the comment seriously or not, Hale half-heartedly smiled at the men before leaving the meeting hall. He didn't understand. Did Danforth really think he believed himself to be a saint? It was absurd, he thought. He was a minister, not a savior, and he knew in his heart along with God that he thought himself no more than that.

Hale briskly walked over to his carriage and nestled himself in the seat comfortably. With both hands on the reigns, the horse moved forward, pulling the buggy along with it.

Traveling further down the dirt path that led him to his temporary homestead, he noticed a figure in the near pastures. It was to his surprise to see John Proctor laboring the day away by lashing the tall dead grass left over from the summer. It made his day a little better to see someone as humble and noble as he. Proctor waved in the far distance as Hale brought the steed to a halt.

Proctor leaned his rake on his shoulder. "Ah, Mister Hale. How do you do, sir?"

"Quite alright, thanks." Hale looked over the vast meadows. "How is Goody Proctor?"

"She's well."

Hale noticed a certain hollowness in his voice, as if he wanted to avoid the subject. In the far distance, he could hear the rattling of another oncoming carriage coming through the valley. "Who is that?" he asked, never recollecting seeing that horse outside the church yesterday.

"Oh. That be Mister Hershel Brunswick. He lives across the way, there."

Hale pondered at the name. "Brunswick… funny, I don't recall seeing him at the sermon yesterday."

"Because you didn't," Proctor replied, dusting the hay seed off his shirt. He looked back up to him. "Mister Brunswick, Goody Brunswick, Miss Gallows, and their daughter don't attend church but maybe once a year, and not on their own accord." He looked down for moment. "Best get going then… Elizabeth has dinner waiting."

Hale was baffled. Don't attend church? He wasn't used to hearing such blasphemy of denying the love of Jesus. His brows narrowed as he watched the carriage approach the two of them. There, he could make out the man's face. He was a darkly handsome man, tan from working long hours in the sun and equipped with facial stubble. The man smiled. He looked as though a good man should… but _surely_ he did not deny the power of God.

"Evening to you, Proctor." Hershel nodded his head, tipping his hat as Proctor walked passed him, who returned the favor. He looked over at the strange man he'd never seen before. He was properly dressed and well groomed; obviously not from the village. "You mustn't be from around here." He held out his hand in greeting to Hale after jumping from his carriage. "Hershel Brunswick."

Hale smiled and accepted the greeting. "Reverend John Hale." He had never remembered shaking so many hands in one day.

"Where do you come from, Mister Hale? I've not seen you in town." The town was weary about strangers. It wasn't often they got visitors out here in the pastures.

"Beverly. I've come here on behalf of Reverend Parris."

"From Beverly? What brings you all the way here?"

Hale's eyebrows rose, baffled. "Why, to rid the town of witches; to bring the light of Jesus to the accused."

A confused expression spread over Hershel's face. "Witches? I'm afraid I don't understand… I've never heard of such a thing here." His heart raced as he felt his cheeks turn hot.

Hale froze. He looked away from him, exhaling slowly through his nostrils as he pondered on what he had just heard. Not going to church, and knowing not of the darkness that had overcome his own village; could it be that he was afflicted, too? Perhaps the devil was conjuring him ignorance. "Tell me, sir… how often do and your family attend church?"

Hershel fidgeted nervously. He hated when people asked these types of questions, especially a minister. "I'd be lying if I said we went often. We… practice at home."

"I see… we'll talk again," said Hale, a little suspicious to his lifestyle. He grabbed the reigns to his horse. "I bid you good day, Mister Brunswick," he said before he moved onward down the trail. Hershel waved slightly, a nervous knot forming in his chest. He needed now more than ever to protect his family.


	3. Patience is a Virtue

_Okay. So I changed a few things in my last chapter if you have read it as of late. I've decided for Constanze to be seventeen instead of nineteen, because I was the naïve trait to really show in her. I've spent many o' sleepless nights working on perfecting this chapter and previous chapters so it would be more enjoyable and understandable to read. I really hope it's working, haha. So here it is, Chapter Three of Never Cry Witch. I really enjoyed writing this chapter, because for some reason when I am sleep-deprived, I find my muse more clearly and the creativity just strikes me like lightning. I hope you like it!_

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Chapter 3

The late afternoon grew colder as a cool front blew in afar from the sea. The bare trees shook with the breeze and rattled the dead leaves. It had been a few hours since Hershel had encountered Hale, the chilling presence of the Reverend haunting him every so often. He pulled a cart full of hay in front of the barn before entering the house a few moments later.

Constanze raised her eyebrows, slightly grimacing at the word. "Witches?" she replied in dismay, trying to process everything her father had told her. "They're ridding the town of _witches_?"

"Ay. And they will hang if they do not confess to bewitching the children." Hershel pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head slightly. He could feel his heart sink to his knees. "Sarah Good and Sarah Osborne have already been convicted."

"How do you know this?" her voice trembling in fear.

"Your mother has spoken to Goody Proctor as of this morning… and I spoke to the new Reverend earlier today: Mister John Hale from Beverly."

Constanze huffed in disbelief, choking back the burning tears that tore at her pale blue eyes. "I don't believe this…" She folded her arms as she slumped back in her chair. She looked up in the air and twitched her foot frantically, something she'd often done when she became irritated.

"We must watch ourselves, Stanzey. Mister Hale has already noted suspicion on our Christian life, and-"

"I do believe our personal life is not of his concern, or anyone else's." Constanze rolled her eyes and stood up from her chair. She paced the room for a few moments, still trying to find a rational reason as to, "Why? And who?"

"The young Williams girl; the minister's niece. She accused their Tituba of bewitching her and Betty but three day ago."

Constanze scoffed. "Tituba?"

Hershel shrugged. "I know not why or how; you know well we do not compact with the village."

Constanze shook her head, the heat of her rage rising up to her face. Her breathing became heavy. She turned and walked briskly passed her sitting father and ran outside. Hershel sighed and lowered his head. For once, in a number of years, he had done what seemed the impossible; something he'd thought he was incapable of doing for so long. He prayed.

She was blinded by the wind, infuriated. She ignored the barking of the neighbor's hounds, and the clucking of the hens as she ran passed. Strands of her long black locks fell out of her bonnet and moved freely with the wind. Her knuckles and her nose were cold and numb from the early winter air. Finally she brought herself to a stop after minutes of running indefinitely, looking around her to see the tall pines of the familiar forests surrounding her. She removed her bonnet as she brought herself to her knees, tears stinging her nose and streaking her rosy cheeks. She raked the earth with her fingers, feeling the texture of the dry soil with her palms, something her grandmother taught her to do in troubled times. She closed her eyes. She felt her heart beat slower and slower as she breathed in the fresh air, rich with the scent of broken earth. She squeezed the loose dirt that was cupped in her hands.

She rose from the ground, walking slowly to a grand old tree that was perhaps even older than Granny herself. She placed her fingers on its broad trunk, feeling every course inch of the bark that coated it. She leaned her head against the old pine and sighed. She was always taught to respect the earth as if it were a great grand elder. Gretel had always said that if you treat earth as a mother, it might be that she eventually lend you a helping hand in a time of need. Constanze only hoped that it would be true.

Her emotions ran wild. Who would have spoken of such evil to cause this hellish outbreak? She had known Tituba nearly all her life. She, Sybil, and Gretel would often trade herbs and recipes with each other in the late summer when the crops were ripe, and were always good friends. She never remembered her having the desire to hurt anyone, not even that mouse of a man Samuel Parris. Who would she lose next? Perhaps now her whole family would be condemned, being as un-pure and unworthy as they are in the church's eyes. Perhaps she herself had trafficked with the "devil", or so they'd like to think.

Wiping one last shed tear, She slowly walked down the path from whence she came, running her fingers through the low limbs of the trees. She caressed the leaves browned from autumn, and wondered if her heart would wither, too. She pained just thinking about it. Suddenly, she heard a discrete noise from atop the trees. She looked; three black crows were sitting afar on a high limb. Her heart stopped. She watched as the three ravens flew to the pale sky, their wings flapping distinctively in the silent forest. She remembered the old superstition she was once told as a child: atop a black bird's wing comes death and misfortune. She shuttered.

She used the time it took to get from the woods in the outskirts of the village to her house in town to clear her mind. By that time, the sun had disappeared beyond the horizon. As she walked passed, she patted the family horse, a stout black mare, gently on the snout. She heard another horse snort in the distance. She turned to see an unfamiliar copper stallion tied to the wooden fence that surrounded their barn. It was rare that they ever got visitors out of the province. She knew just about every horse in town.

Reluctantly, she walked to the steps that led up to the front door of her home. She slowly pushed open the cracked door and peered into the kitchen to find her father, mother, and grandmother at the table. They all looked at her as she entered, their eyes filled with worry. It was then she saw a man she'd never met. His very presence stopped her in her tracks, his eyes stern and set upon her as if he'd been expecting her arrival.

"Constanze, dear… come have a seat," Sybil said to her. Her voice trembled.

She said nothing, her eyes hardened and still affixed to the man as she approached her family, wary of his company. Her body was tense like a prowling wolf, and it was clear to him that she did not want him there. He looked down to the side to avoid her eyes, his fingers fidgeting nervously. His chest rose.

Hershel cleared his throat to break the tension. "Stanzey… this is Reverend Hale, from Beverly. He's come to talk to us about our-"

"There is nothing to talk about." she snapped. She gritted her teeth together and balled her fists until her knuckles turned white. The room grew silent.

Sybil sighed. "Mister Hale is here to inform us of what is happening to the children… and examine us to be clear of suspicion."

"Suspicion?" Constanze spat. "What, and belittle us and tell us how unrighteous we are in the eyes of God? How we'll only burn in Hell?" She shook her head. "How dare you come into our home, onto our land, and tell us how to live? These are innocent people you're murdering."

Hale sighed, his eyes pleading for her understanding. "Miss Brunswick, it is not in my favor to-"

"Say no more!" Hale stopped abruptly, slightly jumping at her outrage. "I'll not be judged by your suspicion. Take your accusations elsewhere, and leave my family be." Constanze walked out of the kitchen and walked upstairs to her room, leaving him at a loss for words.

"Mister Hale… I am so sorry. She's just… a bit bewildered." Sybil glanced at the stairway before looking back to Hale. He shook his head.

"Ay… It's a hard time, especially learning all of this but a few hours ago. Give her time. The light of God will eventually reach her, and she will come to full understanding. Patience is a virtue in times like these." He nodded before rising out of his chair and retrieving his hat. "I thank you for your time."

"Good day to you, Mister Hale," said Hershel.

Through the silence, Gretel giggled, causing both Hershel and Sybil to glance over at her. "Ahh… she will come around."

As Hale walked out of the house and to his horse, he felt a certain unease. Never had he felt a stare so cold and so hollow. So broken this child was. Here he had enjoyed the hospitality the people of Salem had given him, looking up to him as a teacher and a protector. Why was there anger projected towards him if he had only tried to help? The thoughts ran through his mind. She hadn't even given him a chance to explain, let alone speak to her. Something was not right about this situation. Not only will he have to persuade the accused in court to confess, but now he will have to help fill the abyss between him and the child. _'Patience is a virtue…'_ he thought to himself. He slowly rode through the darkness to his cabin, where he would wake to face the dreaded morrow in court.


	4. Dreaming Corruptions

_This chapter was actually inspired heavily off of a song by Bootlegg Shaman called "Wiccan Woman." It's really got an enchanted and mystical feel to it that really adds the mood and suspense. Here's the link to youtube:_

_ /watch?v=hCFBdHLGzo0_

_I think if you listen to it while reading the chapter, it'll really add the full effect and it'll really add more to the experience of the story. Kind of like a soundtrack. _

_I think I may go back and redo this chapter some, but right now it's 7 in the morning and I just wanted to get this chapter posted, haha. Enjoy!_

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Chapter 4

The fire crackled, seeming louder then than what it usually was. The house was silent that night. No one had said anything to anyone since the minute Reverend Hale had went out the door. The wind shook the windows of the house, ice beginning to form on the frame of the glass. Nightfall had come.

Constanze laid on her bed, reminiscing about her experience in the forest, and the news her father had given her. She rose and went to her chest of drawers, pulling out a huge book from the bottom. With a candle, she pulled out an old quill pen and an ink well from the drawer as well. She heard the sound of footsteps walking slowly up the stairs. She waited for the creak of a faulty floorboard that laid just before her room to signify that they were entering her room. She heard a knock. "Yes?"

The door opened. It was Gretel. Constanze grinned as she began to write in this enormous book. That woman was _always_ smiling…

"Ahh… the old Shadow Book," said Gretel grinning, admiring how much the book has grown since she were a young girl around Constanze's age.

"Mmm-hmm. I saw three black ravens in the woods today. I noticed the legend was not yet written in here."

"Black ravens?" Gretel asked, her eyes filling with uneasiness. "Oh, child…"

"Do you think it has to do with what is going on in the village?"

"I know not, dear one." Gretel watched as her grand daughter wrote so fluently and neatly on the paper. She rose up. "Maybe you are too hard on mister Hale…"

Constanze closed the book, seeming a little shocked that her grandmother, who was usually almost always on her side, was countering her. "I am only trying to protect us, Granny. They speak of things they have no knowledge of. We do not go to church. That does not make us bad people."

"Going to church does not make them bad people either, my dear. We are all one in the same."

Constanze said nothing. She laid herself on her pillow and stretched, the long run from earlier finally beginning to wind her down. "I just don't want anything to happen…" She closed her eyes.

"You needn't worry about that now… You must get some sleep. Things will be better tomorrow, and your mind will be cleared of any turbulence you have for Mister Hale." Gretel leaned down and kissed her temple. She stroked her hair once before blowing out the candle. "Goodnight, my child."

Constanze lied awake for a moment, contemplating on what Gretel had just told her. She also thought about the reverend, and tried to find room in her heart to forgive him and his suspicion. However, her eyelids were beginning to grow heavier than her thoughts, and eventually drug her in to a much needed sleep.

* * *

"_Wh-where am I?" It was too dark to see. He shivered, the night air chilling him through his white nightwear. The morning dew dampened his face. He frantically turned, looking every which way for any sign of… anyone. "Please… somebody…" He looked up to the sky, which was blackened from nightfall. There were no stars, no moon._

_ He was lost. His heart raced as he began to run, knowing not of where he was or why. He could feel the cold wet bristles of the pine trees scrape at his face as he navigated blindly through the tenebrous woods. Running… running… yet running to no destination. He could feel the cold winter's wind whistle through his ears and his hair._

_ He came to a halt, right in the center of a vast open area with no trees. He looked above. The rays of the pale moonlight shone upon him, giving him somewhat of a notion of where he was, though he did not recognize it. He looked around. He was secluded, surrounded by miles and miles of vast forested wilderness. "Is anyone there? Someone, please!" he called into the darkness. He sighed and wrapped himself in his coat, looking down at his feet and where he stood. He was standing in the middle of a strange circle, a manmade white circle. His heart dropped heavily as he quickly backed away. His eyes, dilated from the pitch black, opened wide. _

_ He recognized this circle. Yes. It was something he had studied in his immense collection of occult books. It was the symbol in which the devil conjured his victims, converting his witch disciples to bid his work; the five-pointed star._

_ Before he could react any further, he heard the crackling noise of crunching leaves and sticks. He held his breath, adrenalin boiling through his veins. A hooded figure emerged from the darkness, along with three other shorter silhouettes alongside it. "I've been waiting for you, priest," a girl's voice said quietly._

_ Hale jolted, preparing to flee the sight, however his bones locked into place. He couldn't move. He couldn't breathe. All he could do was watch in terror as this devilish woman robbed him of his ability to manipulate. She approached him slowly, bringing him further down on his knees the closer she came. He grunted, trying to break free of her infernal grasp. He prayed silently and frantically to God, who seemed to have had more important things to do. He looked up to her pleadingly from bended knees. "Please… I beg of you… release me, devil woman!"_

_ Her face was shadowed by the light of the moon. The three other smaller figures circled him and growled. Wolves. Three huge wolves. Hale panicked as he desperately tried to break free. "Release me at once!"_

_ The girl chuckled silently. "Dear reverend… tell me, hadn't you ever heard the tale of the little boy who cried wolf?" The wolves growled audibly around him, circling the pentacle widdershins._

_ "I believe that's irrelevant," he replied chokingly, seeming to know what she was insinuating. He stopped._

_ "Is it?" She knelt down closer to him, forcing him to lie on the cold wet ground like some kind of repelling energy that worked magnetically. "Tell me how it's not the same."_

_ Hale said nothing. He trembled in his stillness, his eyes darting nervously side to side. He looked at his arms. He was invisibly pinned in the shape to the five-pointed star. He looked back up at her, his hazel eyes petrified with fright. "Dear God… please…" he pleaded out loud._

_ "Do you know what happens to the little boy, once the village finds out his cries were only pretense?"_

_ Again, Hale said nothing. His body shook and his breathing trembled. Sweat began to pour from his temples._

_ The girl removed her hood. A mass of waist-length black hair fell atop her shoulders. Hale's eyes widened. Peering out from under her bangs was a set of blue eyes, as pale as the moonlight that shone upon them. They pierced him maliciously. It was the child… It was Constanze._

_ "Dear child, please hear me! It is not too late!" he shouted to her._

_ "Soon, the world will know. And soon, there will be nothing left of you. Mark my words, reverend; all those innocent lives you take… it will soon come back to shutter you."_

_ Before he had any time to react, the wolves had already leapt in on him. A blood-curdling scream was heard before his vision turned to black…_

Hale jumped from his slumber to an upright position, shivering in a cold sweat. His eyes protruded as he caught his breath. He panted heavily, looking around the bedroom for any sign of conjuring. Nothing. He sighed in relief and fell back into his pillow, putting both hands on his face and rubbing his eyes. His eyes affixed to the ceiling. His limbs felt numb, and he felt as if he could still feel the dew from the cold night on his body. He rubbed his throat, assuring himself it was not mauled in any way. A shiver went down his spine as he remembered the chilling image of the girl, and those cold glass eyes…

He shook it out of mind as he rose from the bed and into the wash room. He splashed cold water on his face. He leaned over the basin and held his head down low, still recovering from the shock from the night terror. He sniffed, noticing his eyes were exceptionally dark and baggy as if he'd not slept at all. He wiped his eyes. His body felt sore, and his mind was still raching. And all he could think about were those haunting eyes… '_Could it be that she had sent her spirit-'_ Hale closed his eyes, shaking his head to himself in denial. _'… No. Impossible. She's but an innocent child…'_

He tried to forget the whole incident, for he didn't want to seem troubled and fatigued in front of the Salem court. He made his way downstairs after he dressed appropriately for the court, clearing his mind along the way. He grabbed his hat and pushed his way into the cold weather, where he would soon find himself before the judge who was perhaps much colder…

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Yayy! Chapter 4, finally! Please read and review and tell me what you think!


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